


christmas (baby, please come home)

by firewoodfigs



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Young Royai, just a bunch of awkward teenagers who are painfully unaware of their feelings, some scenes inspired by Little Women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firewoodfigs/pseuds/firewoodfigs
Summary: In which Riza has to endure a dreary Christmas in the countryside by herself, and Roy is, of course, full of surprises.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35





	christmas (baby, please come home)

**Author's Note:**

> **Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everyone!** 💕
> 
> This one-shot will make the most sense if you’ve listened to the song, _Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home)_ , from which the title derives itself from. (Please give it a listen if you haven’t, it’s a great song!!! I especially liked Leighton Meester’s version [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=shQgQihLeV0) :)) The different parts are meant to mirror the respective segments of the song, save for the final scene which was inspired by a scene from Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women, which is one of my favourite books and movies of all-times. :)

**~x~**

“Have a safe trip, Mister Mustang!” Riza called.

Gray clouds billowed the smokestacks as the train prepared to depart the station. All around her, people were yelling out their respective farewells and well wishes, some bearing gifts and other grand gestures that she couldn’t quite afford. 

“Last call!” A conductor shouted, scanning the area for any remaining passengers. 

Roy stood precariously on the edge of a train carriage. He was dressed warm; a thick shawl draped loosely around his neck. A brown suitcase wobbled slightly beside him. (Riza had helped him pack last night so that it wouldn’t explode halfway during his travels. Now it was securely locked, rusted clasps glinting in the afternoon sun.) 

“I will. Take care of yourself too, Miss Riza,” Roy grinned. A thin, bespectacled man in a pinstriped suit pushed past Roy to get onboard, heaving. Yet even the rude interruption did not appear to dampen Roy’s bright spirits. His smile widened. “I’ll be back before you know it! See you soon!” 

_I hope so, Mister Mustang._

Riza nodded and mustered a cheery smile. Her hands were clasped near her heart, as if to prevent any unnecessary outpour of emotion. 

“See you soon. Enjoy yourself.” 

With all the nimbleness of a teenage boy, Roy hoisted himself and his baggage up onto the carriage properly. A bell resounded in the distance, signalling the train’s imminent departure as the doors began to close, separating the two. 

Roy gave her one last jaunty wave as the train roared to life. “Goodbye!” 

And just like that, he was gone. 

Riza watched as the train disappeared in the distance, further and further until she was sure she could no longer see it. Then she turned to leave for home at last. 

Her heart was heavy, footsteps burdened with a feeling she did not want to admit. (It was loneliness. Mister Mustang hadn’t even been gone for an hour, and she was already beginning to miss him and the warmth that he never failed to bring.) Even the snow-laden spruce trees, the smell of warm, mulled cider and the gentle snowflakes falling around her from the heavens did nothing to lift her spirits. 

And when she returned back to the cold, oppressively quiet manor, Riza found that it did not feel like Christmas at all. 

**~x~**

Christmas was always a bit of a grand affair in Tobha. 

Despite the relative penury of the small town, Christmas was the one occasion that everyone gathered to splurge on. No trees, no houses were spared. Everything was decorated to the brim with gold tinsels and twinkling lights and red, glittering baubles. 

Everything, save for the Hawkeyes’ estate. It stood there, sad and decrepit, bearing an uncanny resemblance to a haunted mansion amidst all the festivities and gaieties of the season.

Riza lamented the sorry state of her house, but there was nothing much she could do about it. These days they were tight on money. Meat was becoming more and more of a rarity, a luxury that they probably would not have been able to afford if not for Mister Mustang’s hefty tuition fees. And besides, her father never cared about such festivals. Riza doubted he would’ve spared a penny to transform the house into something more befitting of the season, even if he had the means to do so. On some days she wanted to ask if he could just… transmute, well, _something_. Make the house a little more lively. Something, anything. Maybe even a small wreath decorating the old, creaky door would’ve been nice. 

But Riza hadn’t the courage to ask, and she doubted he would take kindly to any unnecessary disturbances to his research. Especially since anything festive — or actually, anything remotely fun — was not his cup of tea. 

Still, the townsfolk were at least nice enough to extend an invitation to her to church on Christmas day. And although Riza was not religious by any means (she had, in her younger years, partaken in a few prayers and ceremonies with her mother, but had never quite understood the appeal of doctrine and dogma), she’d accepted it in the end. 

… Maybe she really was lonely, after all. 

**~x~**

Riza awoke to the sound of church bells ringing merrily in the distance a week later. 

It was Christmas day, she knew. She could hear the kids’ jolly screaming from even a mile away, the enthusiastic pattering of feet against snow as they ran towards the makeshift ice-skating rink and the annoyed fussing of worried parents escorting them there. 

But Christmas, however, did not mean that the house would magically clean itself. 

Riza’s first task of the day was to make breakfast for herself and the other occupant of the house (who did not appear to think of food as a necessary sustenance). She made a few slices of toasts and brewed a pot of tea, then got out the knife to butter them up. 

The scraping sounds echoed through the hallways, her only companion in the morning quiet. 

Riza sighed wistfully to herself. 

Things would’ve been different if Mister Mustang was here, she was sure. He would probably attempt to make himself useful around the kitchen, spice things up with an overcooked egg or two, and plonk himself on the seat beside her with that sunny, boyish grin of his as he rambled on about something - perhaps some new theory he’d stumbled upon the night before, or inquire about her plans for the day - all over a mouthful of chewed bread. 

The thought of his smile made her heart ache. 

Riza shook her head plaintively. It was wishful thinking, she told herself. Maybe even selfish. He did, after all, have a family of his own, and the mere fact that they’d grown to become close friends did not change that. It would’ve been — yes, selfish — to deprive him of celebrating the winter solstice in the city, where things were probably a lot more festive and intriguing. 

For a brief, fleeting moment, Riza found herself wondering about how Christmases were like in Central. She knew Mister Mustang’s aunt was named after the occasion herself, and with his sisters’ propensity to ‘blow things out of proportion’ (his words, not hers) it would probably be a pretty big thing. Perhaps they’d throw a feast of some sort? Rumour had it that people in the city particularly enjoyed having turkey and ham on this occasion, followed by a large cake that was supposed to be modelled after a log for dessert. Why people found logs appetising, Riza didn’t know, but the thought of those things were enough to make her stomach rumble and her throat itch with envy. 

Riza looked down at her paltry fare and frowned. 

She’d have to make do with buttered toast, for now.

Riza ate silently, quickly, admiring the golden lights adorning a neighbour’s garden outside. In the bluish, almost magical hues of daybreak, the twinkling lights gleamed like stars, warm and inviting. And what a lovely house it was! To Riza’s mind the house was every bit like an enchanted palace; tall, white columns standing proudly beside pristine glass windows, where a motherly smile was displayed in its full glory as children frolicked on the lawn. 

Riza sighed again. How she envied them! Her mother might’ve brought her to the skating rink, were she still alive, or at least tried to whip up a glorious feast for them with roasted potatoes and dill and other affordable herbs that would’ve made up for the ostensible lack of poultry. 

But jealousy was a wasted emotion. It would not change her circumstances or bring her mother back from the dead. (It would not bring Mister Mustang back, either.)

Riza stretched lightly and firmed her resolve. 

Once she was done with breakfast, she left a tray filled with toast and tea outside her father’s room before rushing through her chores for the day. She started with sweeping the kitchen, then dusting the window sills and wiping the tables before doing the laundry, until the church bells rang again at nine hundred hours. 

Her cue to get ready. 

Hanging a threadbare towel up on the drying rack, Riza patted her hands dry against her pants and climbed up the creaking stairs, tiptoeing to her room in case her father hadn’t woken. She began to rummage through her wardrobe in search of something... befitting, something a little more festive. But there wasn’t much to choose from, to be honest. Her clothes were generally plain and practical, designed for everyday comfort instead of supposedly joyous occasions such as these. 

Riza chewed on her bottom lip contemplatively, tracing the edges of a pair of worn, pearl-coloured gloves that once belonged to her mother. If only she was around to tell her what to wear. (Or maybe Mister Mustang. He was good at this sort of thing, what with his impeccable fashion sense and his sisters who ensured that his wardrobe never malfunctioned.) 

In the end, after a few more minutes of fruitless searching, Riza decided on a frock with a simple enough plaid design, her mother’s gloves, and a small green hat that did little to brighten her countenance. Once she’d tucked her feet into her pair of trusty brown boots, Riza exited the manor and walked briskly towards her destination. 

The biting cold ravaged her with every step. The wintry winds were always especially bad around this time of the year, as if all the months of sleeping had roused in them a particular vengeance begging for release. 

Cupping her hands, Riza brought them up to her lips and huffed wearily into them. Almost involuntarily, her mind began to conjure, of its own accord, the memory of how her friend had chafed her bare hands with his a year ago as they roamed the Christmas markets at night in search of freshly-baked apple strudels and mulled cider and other small trinkets that he wanted to gift to his sisters for the New Year. 

_You’ll get a cold like this, Miss Riza_ , he’d chastised. _Don’t forget your gloves next time._ (Riza had been far too stunned to react, much less protest, but her heart had been thumping so wildly in her chest she thought she might’ve passed out.)

Flushing scarlet (from the cold), Riza stuffed her hands in her pockets and trudged forward in the ankle-deep snow. She arrived at the small, nondescript chapel no less than fifteen minutes later, and was promptly ushered in by a nosey, bespectacled lady who began to fuss over the state of her cropped hair; a disapproving hand on her hip as she clucked her tongue and shook her head. 

“Girls your age should be having long, feminine braids instead!” was her unsolicited advice. 

Pursing her lips, Riza wisely refrained from speaking and offered an obedient nod. Then she shuffled towards her designated seat and sat down quietly as the choir sang, careful not to draw anymore attention to herself. (Attention from the townsfolk was always… intimidating. Gossip tended to spread like wildfire, considering how small the town population was.) 

_Deck the Halls with boughs of holly…_

The surrounding populace butchered the chorus completely; a cacophony of tone-deaf harmonies smashed together to create something ignorantly jovial. 

_Don we now our gay apparel…_

And again.

Riza cringed, but again stopped herself from saying anything. It seemed that was the wrong move, however; adults are often prone to encourage children in their own oblivious ways, and Riza was no exception to this frustrating norm. 

“Why aren’t you singing, honey?” came the voice of the matronly woman beside her. 

… _Why_ was she here again? 

Not wanting to be rude, Riza shrugged and forced a smile before pretending to mouth the lyrics. Satisfied, the lady turned back to her husband, crooning along until the carol finally came to a halt. Once the choir sat down and the attendants ceased their murmurings, a clergyman rose to the pulpit, commencing his sermon with the usual story about the baby in the manger. Typically, this was Riza’s favourite part, as it meant that the others would be inclined to leave her alone, but today was just not her day. 

“Sweetheart,” the lady whispered again, halfway through the clergyman’s retelling. Her red, feathered hat bobbed lightly against her husband’s fur-laden shoulder as she cocked her head. “Are you here alone?” 

Riza nodded, again feigning focus on the sermon in hopes that the woman would leave her alone. 

She did not. 

The woman scooted closer, her expensive tweed coat brushing against Riza’s hand-me-downs. “Aw, that’s a pity. Where’s the boy - the one who’s always with you? The city boy with the black hair?” 

Riza shrugged, praying the woman would take a hint and leave her be. 

Unfortunately, the Lord did not answer her prayers. 

“Heavens, no! Did you two break up or something?” 

Riza coughed softly into a fist and shook her head with greater vehemence this time. 

The woman arched a perfectly penciled brow. “Such a pity. You should seize him while you can, darling. He’s a good catch — I know my daughter would love to spend Christmas with a charming lad like him. What more from the city! Surely he must be pretty well-to-do.” When Riza did not respond, she patted her patronisingly on her shoulder and finally, _finally_ left her alone. 

From the corner of her eye, Riza saw the woman’s fingers lace through her husband’s pudgy, crepe-like ones and frowned. Something like jealousy and nostalgia stirred within her, and she could feel her heart beginning to pick up its pace again, like a hamster being set on a running wheel.

“And we know that the Lord has ordained all things to be made beautiful in His time…” 

Swallowing uncomfortably, Riza straightened in her seat and turned her attention towards the clergyman instead. Perhaps driven by a sudden, overwhelming sense of confusion, Riza placed her gloved hands in her lap and began to pray.

 _Dear God,_ Riza prayed in her heart, _I’m not sure why I feel this way, but I hope Mister Mustang will... will be alright._

Thumbing the hem of her frock, Riza then added one more silent plea. 

_Come back home soon, please._

**~x~**

To Riza’s everlasting surprise, her prayers were answered the following afternoon. 

“Surprise!” Roy called as he appeared at the doorstep with the same boyish grin, a suitcase in one hand and a delicately wrapped package in another. The red ribbons fluttered in the winds as he sneezed into the crook of his elbow. 

Riza blinked, shocked. 

“Me -” another sneeze - “Merry Christmas, Miss Riza!” 

Snapping out of her reverie, Riza steered him in gently as she fixed her gaze on the creaky, wooden tiles, all the while fighting to keep the heat from crawling up her ears. 

“M-merry Christmas, Mister Mustang,” she managed to stutter out. “What brings you here so soon? Aren’t you supposed to be in Central, still?” 

Not that she was complaining, of course, but still. It was a surprise to see him back soon all the same. Surely he must’ve wanted to spend more time with his family first before returning to Tobha? Or was he simply that eager to continue his lessons? 

“Nah, I hopped on the earliest possible train,” he said, grinning brightly. He put his things down on the couch and began to rub at his reddening nose after removing his scarf. “Besides, one week with my sisters is enough to drive me insane. I’ve missed the countryside.” 

Riza laughed softly. “Sounds like you had a lovely time. But really, I hope I didn’t —” Riza cut herself off abruptly, suddenly realising how self-important she must’ve sounded. Abashed, she shook her head and wrangled her hands together. “I mean, it’s good to have you back.” 

“Missed me while I was gone?” Roy teased, an impish twinkle in his eyes. 

“No,” Riza lied, keeping her best poker face on. “I’d almost forgotten how peaceful the house could be without you.” 

“Aw, you wound me so!” Roy cried, clutching at his heart as if he’d sustained a mortal wound in battle. Riza laughed again, a loud, genuine one this time. Warmth bloomed in her chest despite her earlier words. “Tell me you’re lying.” 

_No way_ , Riza thought to herself. She would rather die than do so. “I was half-joking, maybe.” 

Roy harrumphed, pouting as he picked up the suspicious-looking package from earlier and presented it to her with an injured sniff. “To think I’d even gone to the extent of preparing a gift for you.”

Riza’s face fell. Guilt swept over her like a tidal wave; she hadn’t finished his gift as she hadn’t thought he’d return that early. 

“You really shouldn’t have,” she chided. “Don’t waste your money like that -” 

“It’s not a waste,” he insisted, though not unkindly. 

“I don’t -” she fumbled for the words, still keeping her eyes firmly trained on the floor as if it could dispel all her problems and mounting embarrassment. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Roy added gently. “Equivalent exchange doesn’t apply to gifts.” 

Riza laughed weakly. (Trust him to make some lame joke related to alchemy now, of all times.) “How convenient.” 

“Precisely,” Roy winked. Clearing his throat and blushing a little, he added, “Besides, your company is more than enough. Go on, open it.” 

Riza felt her cheeks burn, as if she’d just gotten out of a steam bath. Nonetheless, she was more than happy to oblige. 

Removing the package from his outstretched hand, Riza unfurled the ribbon and began to peel away at the layers of tape with her short, well-trimmed nails. She could hear Roy drumming his fingers impatiently against his arm as she did so. 

“Aw, why do girls always insist on opening their presents so slowly?” 

Riza chuckled under her breath. “And why do boys always insist on ripping their presents apart so indecorously?”

“It doesn’t matter!” Roy half-cried. “What matters is what’s inside.” 

Riza did not miss the tremble of excitement in his voice, and slowed down the pace at which she was tearing apart the crisp blue wrappers. 

Roy groaned. Peering up from beneath her lashes, Riza noted that he was well on the verge of imploding from impatience, and laughed once more. 

“Patience, Mister Mustang.” 

Doing the complete opposite, Roy sulked and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, clucking his tongue along to the clock’s ticking. 

Five minutes later, wrappings and ribbons fell to the floor to reveal a box. A sturdy, printed box, decorated with pictures of ribbons and reindeers and little green leaves. 

Riza held her breath as she removed the lid, not knowing what to expect. 

Roy, like most teenage boys, did not have the patience to wait further this time. He picked up the… the _thing_ residing within and brought it up to his chin, an anxious but eager grin adorning his features. 

“I - oh,” Riza breathed, as she reached out to pat the soft, inner fleece. It was a coat, a fine, plush coat that came in a deep, emerald green, decorated with fine gold buttons and a thick belt around the waist. 

“What do you think? Do you like it?” Roy asked. 

Riza nodded without hesitation. By heavens, was the pine-coloured coat gorgeous! It reminded Riza of a forest, the sort with densely-packed trees and ferns that surrounded its explorers in a warm, comforting embrace as sunlight crept through the tiny gaps indiscreetly in streams of gold and yellow. 

But it also looked terribly expensive. 

“It’s… it’s lovely. But -” 

“No buts,” Roy interjected. “You liking it is more than enough for me.” 

“You really shouldn’t have,” Riza admonished. Her heart sank with self-reproach, disappointed that she could not reciprocate with anything of equal or greater value. “It’s a waste -” 

“Not at all!” Roy continued, his grin brightening. “It’s a practical gift, you have to admit that.” 

“Well… yes,” she said, somewhat uncertain. 

“Would you like to try it on?” he offered, smiling at her in that soft, reassuring way of his. 

Slumping her shoulders in defeat, Riza obliged. She offered a small smile and an even smaller nod, and Roy did not hesitate to put it on for her once she’d expressed her acceptance. 

“Thank you, Mister Mustang.” 

“You’re welcome. Like I said, don’t worry about it,” he whispered soothingly. “Your company’s enough of a gift for me.” 

Riza willed herself not to blush and adjusted the coat such that the plush fleece wrapped itself snugly around her arms. 

“There’s more,” Roy added, a triumphant lilt to his voice as he fished out a thick, wooly scarf the colour of snow from the box. 

“Mister Mustang,” Riza scolded, though there was no real heat to her voice. 

Roy merely shrugged. Inching closer, he looped the scarf around her neck and stepped back as if to admire his handiwork. “What do you think?” 

“I… I really like it,” Riza admitted, somewhat begrudgingly as she caressed the fluffy material. (It was more than lovely. It was soft, gloriously warm, and a gift from a cherished friend.) “Thank you so much.” 

“You’re very welcome,” he said sincerely, beaming at her. “Now, let’s get going!” 

“To where?” Riza asked, bewildered. 

“It’s a secret," Roy winked, tugging at the sleeves of her new coat. 

“... You’re full of surprises today, aren’t you?” 

“I always am.” 

**~x~**

As it turned out, Roy’s idea of a surprise was to gatecrash a Christmas ball. 

“Mister Mustang,” Riza protested, alarmed. “I don’t think we’re allowed to enter -” 

“Who said we’re going in?” Roy whispered conspiratorially as he brought her to a relatively secluded arbor in a wealthy family’s garden, far away from any prying eyes. 

A soft, yellow light refracted off the glittering chandeliers behind the pristine glass windows where some of the richest townsfolk were gathered for what looked like a - masquerade? Was that what it was called? Whatever it was, it looked like something from a fairytale; something Riza hadn’t dared imagine even in her wildest dreams.

Riza watched as partners switched hands for another dance, marvelling at the way the satin dresses flurried around restlessly as if they had a life of their own. A cheery foxtrot filled the air, punctuated by dainty laughter and clinking glasses. 

“This feels illegal, Mister Mustang.” 

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Roy said, scanning the area for any signs of human activity. Satisfied that it was empty, he puffed his chest out and continued, “See? Everyone’s too engrossed in their own merrymaking to even notice us.” 

“... Alright,” said Riza, still fidgeting apprehensively. “But what are we here for? To trespass people’s private property?” 

“Of course not! Would I do something like that?” 

“Yes.” 

“You think too lowly of me, Miss Riza,” Roy shook his head in mock disappointment. “We are here,” he declared proudly, “To dance.” 

“Here?” Riza said, incredulous. 

“Yep. There’s free music, so why not? Besides, your neighbours have pretty good taste,” he said, thrusting a thumb at their surroundings. 

True to his word, the balcony _was_ lovely. Honeysuckles and glimmering lights curled around the arbor, painting the radius around them a breathtaking gold. The lawn beside was neatly mown. A grand Christmas tree stood in the centre, garnering attention from every passerby with its shiny tinsels and red, layered ribbons and its generously fluffed-up branches, which were artfully weighed down by sparkling baubles and little gold stars. 

“... I suppose you have a point."

“See?” Roy extended a gloved hand and, true to his histrionic nature, even did a little curtsy. “Well, then. May I have this dance, Miss Riza?” 

Riza was torn between laughter and outright rejection. “This is ridiculous, Mister Mustang.” 

“C’mon! It’ll be fun, I promise.” 

Riza obliged after a moment’s deliberation. Hesitantly, she accepted his hand and watched him carefully. “If we get into trouble…” 

“We run,” Roy finished, a smarmy grin on his features that attested to his self-proclaimed intelligence. 

“I’m pretty sure I can outrun you, Mister Mustang.” 

“We’ll see about that. I have plenty of experience,” he whistled. Riza was about to probe further, when he added, “But for now, let’s just enjoy the festivities and dance a little.” 

“... Alright.” 

Smiling earnestly, Roy brought her hand up to his shoulder, then gently placed the other one that he was holding on his waist. 

“Are you comfortable like this?” 

Riza nodded. Words eluded her. Though he’d taught her how to dance before, the sudden proximity between them was mildly unnerving. Up this close, Riza could see his eyes crinkling as he smiled crookedly and hummed along to the music, tapping his feet to count the beat with his lips pursed in concentration… 

It made her heart do unimaginable things. 

Riza steeled herself and focused on the music instead. The music had slowed down into a relatively easy waltz, and Roy began to lead, his fluid steps guiding her like a steady stream. 

Riza smiled to herself as she swayed along, allowing herself to savour the moment and, perhaps unwittingly, the sturdy, gentle warmth of his palm against her waist. Once the music segued into a more upbeat polka, however, the two adolescents soon threw all sense of decorum and propriety out of the window. (Or, well, out of the balcony.) Perhaps emboldened by the unlawfulness of their actions, Roy quickened his pace as he tightened his hold ever so slightly. Riza followed suit, pausing only to catch her breath.

It was exhilarating. She couldn’t recall the last time she felt so… so _free_. Like a child, uninhibited and mildly unhinged. 

A thrill rushed through Riza as Roy spun her around. Not wanting to be left out, she did the same, and he was more than willing to oblige with a dramatic twirl on his tippy-toes before doing a little bow, keeping his arm tucked beneath his chest as his chin poked out playfully. 

Riza giggled softly. “What an impressive dancer you are.” 

“Of course I am,” he huffed in fond exasperation, warm air coming out of his cracked lips in wisps. “I’ve had a lot of practice with my sisters.” 

“So it seems.” 

Roy quirked an eyebrow and increased his pace further. Like a rabbit high on adrenaline, he hopped around gaily without a care in the world, and despite her initial shyness Riza eventually caved and did the same. Together, they leapt around together excitedly hand in hand, neither seeming to mind the other’s unglamorous state or the fact that they weren’t even following the tempo of the music anymore. 

Riza laughed heartily, enthralled. She gripped on a little tighter to his hand as they jumped just a little higher; enough to send snow flying skywards in a flurry of white before it pelted their heads. 

Roy chuckled and gently swept the snow off her hair — presumably so that she wouldn’t end up looking like a drenched rat when it melted. Then he spun her around again before coming to a sudden halt even as the live orchestra carried on their vibrant tune, blinking in surprise. 

Riza’s eyes widened. Fear gripped at her chest, its claws making her throat itch and her lips parched. A whole assortment of worst-case scenarios began to play out in her mind, a habit that she’d cultivated from years of sustained anxiety that came with treading on eggshells around her father and gossipy neighbours who weren’t always as innocuous or as harmless as they made themselves out to be. Had they been found out? Did someone call the local sheriff on them? Were they going to be sued for trespass, or —? 

“Merry Christmas, Riza,” Roy breathed. 

There were two things that started Riza in this moment: first, Mister Mustang’s use of her first name. By way of unspoken agreement, they’d always kept the honorifics around each other, for fear that her father would discover the true extent of their friendship and throw Roy out. The sudden rule-breaking was… shocking, to say the least, though it really shouldn’t have been. (They were already doing something that was technically illegal, anyway.) 

Second, they were currently standing under a mistletoe. 

“U-uh,” Riza stuttered, dumbfounded. In her panic she hadn’t noticed the latter, nor the shy, handsome smile plastered across her friend’s face; his unreadable gaze after they’d ceased their dancing. “M-Merry Christmas, Mister Mustang.” 

Red mottled his cheeks, and he averted his gaze as words tumbled out of his mouth ineloquently. 

“I-I mean… that is, you don’t have to, of course. I just… uh…” Realising that he was still clasping onto her hand, Roy quickly let go and scratched the back of his head, as if searching for words directly from therein. “What I meant to say was, I’m really glad to have you in my life, and - uh…” 

“Me, too,” Riza confessed shyly. 

“Can I— uh, is this alright?” Roy inched closer such that there was hardly any distance separating them. Riza peered at him from under her lashes and saw the tentative sincerity, the tender affection in his bright, inky eyes. 

And Riza nodded, ducking her head slightly so he wouldn’t be able to see her deepening blush. 

Roy took that as his cue to press a chaste kiss on her forehead. It was barely a kiss, just the slightest brush of lips on skin, but it was more than enough to make Riza flush like a schoolgirl. Then he tucked her gently under his chin and brought her closer to his chest, his own heart fluttering erratically against hers. 

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured once more into her hair, circling his arms around her with such a fond tenderness — as if she was something to be cherished and remembered. 

Riza smiled to herself and leaned into his touch, a deep sense of contentment and peace washing over her and she savoured the inexplicable feeling that came with being in his arms. 

“You, too.” 

(Home. It felt like home.) 

**~x~**

From inside, a familiar woman with a red, feathered hat and a ruby-encrusted mask smirked knowingly as she eyed the two flustered teenagers. “I knew it. You got a good one for yourself, little lassie!”

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, once again! I'd originally intended to upload this on Christmas Day itself, but the past few days have knocked me out good and I am only now getting to edit this on my laptop. 😆 Nevertheless, I hope it brought you guys some fun, festive cheer, and that you all had an enjoyable Christmas! Please leave a comment if you have the time - I'd love to hear what you thought (or say hi on Tumblr if you're there - I'm @firewoodfigs :))! 
> 
> I'll see you guys on the next chapter of [memento amare](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24862408/chapters/60147661), which will hopefully/most likely be up before 2020 ends ;) Till then, take care and stay safe, and happy holidays to all of you - may the new year bring upon us all adventure, peace and hope. 💖
> 
> -
> 
> Some additional notes/disclaimers: 
> 
> None of the religious views here are meant to be reflective of my own. (I personally am Christian, but didn't want to characterise Riza as such in fears that I'd end up self-projecting or coming off as proselytising.) Also, I seem to have a thing for writing about awkward, flustered teenagers dancing in the countryside, but I have to put it out here that I have the misfortune of being born with two left feet and zero coordination skills. Please forgive me if there are any inaccuracies (let me know if there are any!) as the only dancing I do, if it can even be counted as such, is flailing my arms wildly in the air as I rap unintelligibly like a certain Colonel. This is most regrettable, but alas, I am nothing but peculiar and will likely continue to be that way for the foreseeable future. 😆


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